


His Master's Voice

by Paper_Crane_Song



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Dark, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Psychology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 16:05:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8759746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paper_Crane_Song/pseuds/Paper_Crane_Song
Summary: As part of Uncle's field requirements, Illya must examine his deepest fear. Napoleon sits in for moral support.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story feels a little darker than some of my other stories. It's not quite as nice, and not quite as neat. 
> 
> A few things prompted me to write this; firstly, the idea that _“What we refuse to face has the greatest potential to hold power over us.”_ (Trevor Hudson, in his book _Beyond Loneliness_ ). 
> 
> Secondly, my research into the Holodomor, a period of history that I am ashamed to know nothing about, and that I only became aware of when following up the reference in _The Fox and Hounds Affair_ to IK's childhood in Kiev.
> 
> And thirdly, reading _Falling Out of Time_ by David Grossman, an allegory of grief in a literary style that I suspect I have subconsciously emulated in this story. 
> 
> I'm a little hesitant to ask for your feedback with this one, but I do appreciate constructive criticism. Please be gentle :)

_I'd like to learn to separate_

_memory from the pain. Or at least in part,_

_however much is possible, so that all the past_

_will not be drenched with so much pain._

_-_ From _Falling Out of Time_ by David Grossman

 

* * *

 

**Napoleon**

They meet in the corridor.

“Illya, good, I was hoping to catch you - ” but Illya cuts him off.

“Whatever it is will have to wait. I'm late for my appointment.”

Napoleon falls into step with his partner. “Is it a long-overdue appointment with your barber?"

“Very funny.”

They enter the elevator together. Napoleon waits expectantly for Illya to push the button, but instead, Illya looks at him with familiar, mild exasperation.

“Don't you have other things you should be doing?”

“I can't think of any.” The fact that Illya is being evasive peaks his interest.

Illya sighs, and pushes the button. Second floor.

“Medical? Are you sick?” He puts a hand on Illya's forehead, and Illya ducks away.

“If you must know, I have an appointment with Dr. Weiss. It's part of the fear prevention programme.”

The pieces of the puzzle suddenly fall into place. The programme is mandatory for all field agents, designed to prevent Thrush from using an agent's deepest fear against himself. In his opinion, it's well-meaning, but misguided. He doesn't see how talking to a shrink can have any bearing on the real world, where it counts.

 “Guess old Abe must have retired.” At Illya's questioning glance, he adds, “Abe was the shrink – ah, psychiatrist – in residence when I first joined the New York office.”

The elevator doors swish open, and they walk out into the virtually identical corridor.

“You did the programme too?” Illya says.

He hums in confirmation.

“What was your fear?”

“I don't have one.” Illya looks sceptical. “I don't. I do remember they threatened to withdraw me from the field unless I 'fessed up, so I lied, and Abe got to tick his box. That's all that matters.”

Illya seems unconvinced. “Perhaps.”

He looks at him more closely. “You're not worried about this, are you?”

There is no answer, which, for Illya, is an answer in itself.

They arrive at Dr. Weiss's office. “Do you want me to come in and hold your hand?” he says, half-teasingly.

“Don't be stupid.” But there is hesitation there, the slightest fraction of a second, and that clinches it. He's naturally protective of his partner, though he doesn't often get the chance to demonstrate it.  

“The appointment is for Mr. Kuryakin only,” the secretary informs them from behind her desk.

“I'm auditing,” he says smoothly.

 

* * *

 

**Illya**

“You're afraid of dogs,” Dr. Weiss repeats back to him.

Illya shrugs. “It's a perfectly reasonable fear.”

“But _why_ are you afraid?”

“They bite.”

“Rabbits bite also, Mr. Kuryakin.”

He smiles coolly. “Then I will be afraid of rabbits, too.”

Out the corner of his eye he sees Napoleon shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Judging from his friend's reaction, Napoleon hadn't been put through this level of questioning with 'Abe'.

“Why are you afraid of dogs?” Dr. Weiss says again.

He sighs. “I was a child. I was hungry. One day I was rooting through the bins. There was a pack of dogs, and I was bitten.” He catches the surprise that flashes across his partner's face. They've seen each other naked on more than one occasion, and Napoleon knows full well he has no such scar upon him.

Dr. Weiss considers him carefully for a moment, and Illya does his best to keep his expression blank.

“You're lying.”

_Chyort._

“All right,” he says, conceding the point, “It wasn't a pack. There was only one dog.

But Dr. Weiss is shaking his head, and he is beginning to have that sinking realisation that he is not going to be able to bluff his way out of this like Napoleon apparently did. It is most unfair.

“I am reminding you again, Mr. Kuryakin, as I am reminding all Uncle agents who come in here; to name your fear is to master it, otherwise it will master you, and it will be used by others to have mastery over you. Thrush, for example.”

He sees Napoleon squirm again. It's offputting, and he forces himself to concentrate on Dr. Weiss. “I do understand, Doctor,” he says and he means it. He has seen some of the diabolical methods used by Thrush, and he has no desire for them to be used against him, wittingly or unwittingly.

Dr. Weiss sits back, waving his hand. “Then begin.”

Except, he doesn't know how to.

The room seems smaller than it was a few moments ago. There are no clocks, and it would be rude of him to check his watch.

He looks at Napoleon, despite himself, and Napoleon merely raises his eyebrows. No help there.

Dr. Weiss is waiting, resolutely ignoring his partner.

Time stretches on, and he is aware that his heart is beating very fast.

When Dr. Weiss speaks again, his voice is surprisingly gentle. “What impressions come to mind when you think of a dog, Mr. Kuryakin?”

_Panting, fast, hoarse_

“It is how they sound, I suppose.”

“When they bark?”

_Panting, fast, hoarse_

“When they breathe.”

“You must have gotten very close to hear them breathing.”

“ _They_ got close to _me_.” Semantics, perhaps, and yet is an important distinction, one that Dr. Weiss acknowledges with a nod.

“You did not want them there.”

“No.”

“And there was indeed a pack. More than one.”

“Yes.”

“And it was dark. Night time.”

Surprise. “How did you - ”

“You could not see, so you had to listen.”

_Yes._

“They were hunting. You were hiding.”

He nods.

“And you were where?”

He clears his throat. “At home.”

“Why were the dogs in your home?”

“They were hungry.”

“But there was no food for them there.” It is a statement. “There was no food anywhere.”

He is nodding in agreement.

“So what were they looking for?”

His mouth is dry, and the word comes out cracked. “Us.”

“Did they ever find you?”

The air has become very thin. “Once.”

“What happened?”

“My mother hit him with a cooking pot.” He laughs then because it sounds funny, but the laugh itself sounds strange.

“Ah Doctor,” he hears Napoleon say from far away, and it is his concerned voice. He is concerning Napoleon. But Dr. Weiss ignores it.

“Why are you afraid of dogs, Mr. Kuryakin?”

And he discovers that he has known the answer all along. “Because they sound like people.”

* * *

 

Gradually the room comes back into focus. He feels as if he's coming round from a sleeping dart.

Dr. Weiss is cleaning his spectacles. “It was a bad time then, no?” he says, conversationally.

“We were all hungry,” he says, guarded now.

But Dr. Weiss lets it go. The session is over.

He looks over at his partner. Poor Napoleon. Illya wants to reassure him. “It was a bad time for everyone,” he tells Napoleon, getting to his feet.

Napoleon stands too, a little unsteady.

“I think you should come and talk to me again some time, Mr. Kuryakin,” Dr. Weiss says. “Alone,” he adds pointedly.

As they head towards the door, Dr. Weiss says, “Oh, Mr. Solo, it's your turn now.”

Napoleon stops, glances at Illya, clears his throat. “I've already done the programme,” he tells Dr. Weiss.

“Yes, but that was before _him_.”

Napoleon looks back at Illya, stricken, and Illya turns away quickly even as he feels his face flush.

“Thank you for your time, Doctor,” he mumbles as he goes for the door handle. He closes the door behind him, and then all at once he has to fight the urge to run as he walks quickly, briskly, to the nearest bathroom. He locks the door and breathes out very slowly. He does not leave for a long time.

_Finis_

 

 


End file.
